‘I have to tell you that the Sword Brothers have betrayed us.’

  Concern began to turn to anger in the hall. Sigurd was surprised how the usually blunt Stark was manipulating his earls.

  ‘In good faith my brother, the king,’ Stark held out an arm to Sigurd, ‘entered into a treaty with the Sword Brothers on the understanding that they would not take any action against us.’

  He raised his voice. ‘But now I have learned that the Sword Brothers have entered into an alliance with the Kurs.’

  Angry ‘nos’ came from the benches. Stark stilled them with his raised arms once again.

  ‘How long will it be, my friends, before the Kurs and Sword Brothers muster on the shore of Estonia with the army of the Marshal of Estonia? Are we to sit idle like old maids while the Blessed Isle is raped like a young virgin?’

  ‘We are with you, Stark,’ came a voice from the back of the hall.

  ‘I say that we must renounce our treaty of friendship with the Sword Brothers.’

  There was loud stamping of feet.

  ‘I say that we should wipe the cobwebs from our axes and swords and show the Kurs, Sword Brothers and Estonians that we are Oeselians.’

  There was more stamping and not a little cheering.

  ‘For too long the Estonians have been left alone. It is time to unleash the longships and tall men!’

  The hall erupted in wild cheering as men jumped to their feet and cried for blood. Stark, smiling, accepted the acclaim and then walked back to his bench, sitting beside Kalf who gave him a big hug. Sigurd stood slowly. Bothvar jumped to his feet.

  ‘Silence! Let the king speak.’

  Sigurd’s round face wore a weary look as he stood and faced Stark. He knew that his brother despised him for making peace with the Sword Brothers, especially because at the time the crusaders were at the mercy of the Oeselians. But the Marshal of Estonia had convinced him that peace was in the best interests of Oesel. Perhaps he had been deceived and perhaps the marshal was at that very moment laughing at him. Either way it did not matter.

  ‘Peace with the Sword Brothers was only ever temporary,’ he began, ‘you all know that. If they have made peace with the Kurs then they have betrayed the agreement I made with them. Once trust has been betrayed it can never be rebuilt, I accept that. But there is a great deal of difference between nullifying a peace agreement and going to war.’

  The king stepped forward and swept the hall with his arm.

  ‘You are my earls and warlords, each one of you able to muster a longship full of warriors. But you are also responsible for the welfare and futures of the people you rule. If we attack the Estonians then we declare war not only on them but also the Sword Brothers, with all the consequences that may bring.’

  ‘We do not fear them,’ shouted an earl.

  ‘We do not fear anyone,’ said another, to loud cheers.

  Sigurd sighed and held up a hand. ‘Very well, I will hear what Prince Stark proposes.’

  Stark, taken aback by his brother’s decision, was momentarily unsure of how to proceed. But urged on by those sitting behind him he rose to his feet to face his brother.

  ‘First I propose a raid on the Rotalian coast to remind the Estonians that they are the playthings of the Oeselians. This will serve to send a warning to the Sword Brothers but they will not make war upon us.’

  ‘How so, brother?’ asked Sigurd.

  ‘Because the Christians will not risk their ships being pounced on when they sail to and from Reval. Our longships can close the harbour of Reval so there is nothing to fear from attacking the Estonians. And after we have washed our swords in Estonian blood we should re-visit the Kurs to remind them what happens when they make enemies of the Oeselians.’

  The cheering and acclaim following his words gave Sigurd no option but to sanction an attack on the Rotalian coast. To do otherwise would be to lose the respect of his warlords. His father had once told him that a king could rule by fear or respect and of the two respect was far more desirable. Fear made men resentful, which eventually turned to hate and then rebellion. As the ecstatic earls congratulated and embraced each other and filed out of the hall Sigurd cornered his brother.

  ‘You take us to war, Stark.’

  The prince gave him a half-smile cum sneer. ‘What else should Oeselians be doing, brother?’

  Sigurd grabbed his arm. ‘Take a good look at the faces of these men, Stark, and remember them. What you have started today will mean many of these men falling in battle.’

  Stark wrenched his arm free. ‘A death that all Oeselians should seek.’

  ‘Let us hope the Sword Brothers think like you,’ said the king.

  Stark laughed. ‘We defeated them once, had them at our mercy, but you let them go. The next time they will not be so lucky.’

  *****

  Hillar turned the letter in his hand and dismissed the courier, a warrior sent in haste by Riki from Varbola after the Duke of Harrien had read its contents and sent it on to Leal. It had been written by Master Lukas at Reval, a man who had fought beside the two Estonians in many battles and was considered to be a good friend by both men.

  ‘Go to the kitchens and get some food inside you,’ Hillar called after the man, ‘my steward will find a fresh horse for you to ride back to Varbola.’

  He nodded at an elderly man standing nearby who followed the courier from the hall. Slaves were spreading fresh rushes on the floor following the earlier meeting of the kingdom’s county leaders, a usually good-natured affair that involved those elders elected by their parishes informing Hillar about the forthcoming harvest. They reported the prospect of a good harvest, the famine that been visited upon Estonia and Livonia now a distant memory. Rotalia was at peace and its people prospered. But when Father Eustace walked into Leal’s feasting hall he found a brooding Hillar sitting in his chair, his huge frame making it appear flimsy and small.

  ‘Something troubles, you, Lord?’

  Hillar turned the letter through his large hands and smiled grimly.

  ‘God has answered my prayers, Eustace.’

  The Cistercian brought his hands together. ‘I have always prayed that He would do so, lord.’

  Hillar sprang to his feet and bounded over to the priest, proffering the letter.

  ‘This has just come from Lukas at Reval.’

  He thrust the parchment into the priest’s hands and returned to his chair, though he did not sit in it.

  ‘Get out!’ he shouted at the slaves. ‘And close the doors.’

  He watched the men bow and scamper away, leaving bundles of rushes on the floor and patches of dirt where they were going to be spread.

  ‘Slaves have big ears and bigger mouths,’ complained Hillar as the doors were shut, leaving the two men alone in the hall.

  Eustace stopped reading the long letter and looked up. ‘If you did not have slaves then they would not bother you.’

  Hillar rolled his eyes. He liked Eustace, the austere priest sent by Bishop Hermann to be the Duke of Rotalia’s spiritual adviser, the two being of a similar age. Like the other monks and many priests of the Cistercian order the tonsured Eustace wore a habit of undyed wool to reflect their ideals of poverty and simplicity. Hillar thought that Bishop Hermann was an excellent judge of character because the plain-speaking and unassuming Eustace slipped easily into the everyday life at Leal. He never made the mistake of trying to impose his views on the former pagan warlord, merely proffering advice when asked, never employing flattery and always speaking the truth, which Hillar valued above all things. But he still made mistakes, as now.

  ‘Slaves are part of the order of things, Eustace. If I did not feed and house them they would starve, and I’m sure you would not want that on your conscience.’

  Eustace smiled and handed Hillar back the letter.

  ‘So the truce is over, alas.’

  Hillar took the letter and waved it at him. ‘Alas? It was only ever a temporary thing, even Susi recognised that. The Oeselians are incapable of keeping their word and now I will have my revenge.’

  Notwithstanding the attitude of Stark, Reval was a favoured port of call for many Oeselian longship captains, its many inns, brothels and gambling dens a lure for warlike men with money to spend and time on their hands. There was also the prospect of trading in slaves and engaging in fights with Estonians, Finns and Russians, though trouble with the Sword Brothers was always avoided. The Oeselians accorded the ‘men of iron’ a grudging respect, not least because they thought nothing of killing a pagan if provoked, their infernal priests actively encouraging such action. A frequent visitor to Reval was Prince Kalf, the youngest brother of King Sigurd himself. Kalf spent much time in the brothels and alehouses and when drunk, which was often, gave free reign to his tongue. Word had reached Lukas that Kalf had been boasting of his brother Stark forcing the king to renounce the peace with the Sword Brothers, and that a raid was going to be mounted against Rotalia to remind the Estonians they were the slaves of the Oeselians.

  Eustace had learned much about Hillar and his Rotalians in the months he had been a guest among them, of how their lands had been raided by the sea pirates and of how their duke had been raised by his grandparents after his father had been killed in one such raid and his mother taken across the sea. Or at least that is what he had been told. More likely she had also been killed after being violated but her body had never been found. Hillar had disagreed with Susi’s agreement with Sigurd but his respect for and loyalty to the Marshal of Estonia meant he kept his views to himself. But now he had his chance to seek retribution for the wrongs committed against his people and his family.

  ‘You believe the ramblings a drunken man?’ asked Eustace.

  Hillar gave him a knowing smile. ‘That drunken man is the brother of the king of the Oeselians himself. Besides, Lukas would not have sent word unless he believed there was truth in the matter. Him I trust.’

  ‘Will you inform Master Conrad, lord?’

  ‘Of course. After we have defeated the Oeselians. Besides, I have no wish to interrupt his or Hans’ healing.’

  Hillar had escaped unscathed from the expedition to Kurland, though many of his men had like Susi suffered broken limbs.

  ‘But the coastline of Rotalia is long, is it not?’ said Eustace. ‘The Oeselians may strike at any point. How will you know where to intercept them?’

  ‘I know exactly where they will land,’ answered Hillar contentedly.

  The courier was sent back to Varbola with a request from the Rotalian leader, Hillar’s warlords were mustered and word was sent to the coast watchers to keep their flint and iron near at hand. The Oeselians liked to approach their target under cover of darkness, their steersmen and captains having an intimate knowledge of the waters around the coastline of Estonia. The beaches of southwestern Rotalia could have been fashioned by the gods to facilitate Oeselian raids – long sandy beaches, calm seas and shallow waters. All the captains had to do was run their longships aground on the sand and then their crews could disembark on to a beach before heading inland to pillage the many villages nearby. The mild climate was conducive to growing crops and keeping herds of cattle that the Oeselians liked to burn and slaughter respectively.

  Ulric and his ‘bastards’ arrived three days later, mounted on Estonian ponies and unencumbered by carts.

  ‘Riki said that you could feed us, Lord,’ said Ulric.

  Hillar threw a powerful arm around his shoulders. ‘We shall feast upon the corpses of the enemy, my friend.’

  The rye stood ripened in the fields, fat cattle grazed on lush grass and barefooted children ran excitedly from their villages to watch the column of riders pass by, at their head Hillar and a tall, slightly thin priest on foot beside him. Behind the duke his own banner and that of ‘the bastards’ flapped in a warm summer breeze. As they continued they encountered groups of villagers herding cattle, pigs and goats east, away from their homes that lay near the sea, ordered to leave their settlements by the Duke of Rotalia.

  Eustace was concerned by their plight. ‘What if the Oeselians burn their homes?’

  ‘Then I will rebuild them,’ said Hillar. ‘You should learn to ride.’

  ‘God gave me two good feet with which to get around, lord.’

  Hillar smiled and shook his head. Eustace was always making such utterances and many men would have laughed in his face and derided him but the priest did not lack for courage. Before he came to Estonia he had given solace to plague victims in Germany, even though he risked being infected himself. He had made an effort to learn Estonian since his arrival in Rotalia and though far from fluent was proficient enough. He was also clever, very clever, never insisting that people attend the services in the converted hut within Leal’s walls that had become his church. Instead he went among Hillar’s warriors and their families, using the excuse of wishing to learn their language as a means of conversing with them. In this way he slowly and gently made them amenable to the teachings of the Holy Church.

  Hillar took two hundred of his warriors to intercept the Oeselians, in addition to the two hundred of Ulric’s ‘bastards’, half of whom were crossbowmen. All ‘the bastards’ were now more Estonian than the Estonians themselves, their hair and beards long and wild though they were Germans. Those that had married had all taken native wives and raised children that were Christian but were all very familiar with the old ways. Their grandparents taught them about Jumal, god of the sky; Kuu, the Moon Goddess and deity of fertility; Mielikki, goddess of the forests and the hunt; Uku, the supreme god and Veteema, Mother of Waters. Their blood was a mixture of pagan and Christian that would have horrified men such as Baldwin of Alna but it was an arrangement that worked well enough in Rotalia.

  When the force reached the coast Hillar made camp five miles inland and waited for the signal. He had established a line of watchtowers all along the coast that were manned at all times. The towers were tall and erected a short distance from the coast. Because the beaches of Rotalia were long and flat such towers gave uninterrupted views for miles in all directions and could warn of the approach of any longships. Once a raiding party was sighted the watcher would use flint and iron to set the top of the tower, which was provisioned with firewood and pitch, alight. The thick black smoke would be seen for miles in daylight and at night the raging flames would become a beacon. The greatest weapon in the Oeselian armoury was surprise and Hillar was determined to deny them it.

  The night was still, the landscape illuminated by a huge silver moon casting the land in a grey otherworldly light. Wolves howled and owls hooted as the warriors settled down after their evening meal. Hillar sat with Eustace watching the flames of the campfire flicker. Around them men slept and snored but the Rotalian leader could never rest immediately before battle.

  ‘How do you know tomorrow will bring battle, lord?’

  Hillar stood and lobbed a stick on the fire. ‘When you have been in as many battles as I have you get a feeling about such things, a sort of sixth sense that tells you bloodshed is imminent. The land changes, as though the trees and animals are holding their breath.’

  Eustace looked around but saw only campfires and tents.

  ‘Perhaps they will not come, lord.’

  ‘They will come, they cannot deny their own instincts, which compel them to murder and plunder.’

  ‘And yet thus far the peace has held,’ offered Eustace.

  ‘Susi convinced the Oeselian king that it was in his interest not to make war on the Sword Brothers, but one man cannot resist the will of his people forever.’

  They heard jangling and saw a warrior in full equipment approach. The man halted before Hillar and bowed his head.

  ‘Signal fire, lord, to the west.’

  Hillar and Eustace stood and stared to the west. Sure enough, in the distance there was a small yellow glow above the forest canopy.

  ‘Sound assembly,’ ordered Hillar.

  Eustace had never heard so much swearing and so many profanities as men were raised from their slumbers, having only closed their eyes a few hours before. It was not yet dawn and so they also stumbled around in the dark, tripping over guy ropes as their chiefs, equally ill tempered, threatened and ridiculed them as they ordered their men to fall in. But a quiet order emerged from the initial chaos as men who had campaigned for years shook off their sluggishness, collected their wits and gathered their weapons and armour. Ponies and horses were saddled as shards of yellow and orange light appeared on the eastern horizon.

  ‘You should stay here in camp,’ Hillar told Eustace as he strapped on his sword belt and put on his helmet.

  ‘My place is beside you and your men,’ said the priest.

  ‘Then get yourself a pony for we travel at speed this day.’

  The darkness was fast receding as the sun appeared as a molten ball of yellow in the east to banish the night. Eustace hitched up his habit when one of Hillar’s subordinates brought him a pony, hoisting himself into the saddle and urging the beast forward when the duke rode from camp with his warriors. Behind them followed Ulric and his men, the crossbowmen each carrying four full quivers slung over their shoulders. They rode hard through the countryside of wild meadows, arable land and woods of pine and birch, led by scouts who lived in this part of Rotalia. The watcher had done his work well whoever he was, escaping rapidly once he had fired his tower, because when Hillar and his vanguard first encountered the enemy they were only a quarter of a mile from the beach.

  The Oeselians initially formed a makeshift shield wall but then saw dozens more riders appearing behind the duke’s party and so melted into the trees either side of the track they were standing on. Hillar did not stop, drawing his sword and calling on his men to follow him as he dug his spurs into his horse’s side and charged forward. He could smell the sea in his nostrils as his horse galloped along the track, the trees echoing with the rumbling sound of hooves churning up the earth. And then the trees were behind them and they were approaching the beach, an endless expanse of white sand stretching north and south, beyond it a shimmering blue sea under a cloudless sky. Hillar pulled up his horse and smiled, to his left, around half a mile away, six longships stood stationary at the water’s edge. As his Rotalians and Ulric’s men poured from the trees the sound of frantic horn calls reached his ears and figures began clustering on the beach in front of the ships. He smiled again as his men leapt from their saddles and began forming up in their ranks. He had the Oeselians just where he wanted them.